


Blowjobs are the Best Kind of Lullaby

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: During Canon, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-21
Updated: 2006-08-21
Packaged: 2018-09-03 09:09:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8706376
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: In which I satisfy my need to see Dean giving Sam head.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

Title:  Blowjobs are the Best Kind of Lullaby  
Author: closetcrombie  
Pairings/Characters: Sam/Dean  
Rating: NC-17  
Category: slash  
Word Count: 1400...ish  
Spoilers: none  
Summary: In which I satisfy my need to see Dean giving Sam head.  
Warnings: Incest...um...oral sex. Sleepy!Sammy, I guess.  
Disclaimer: Yeah, this is me not owning them, or making any money off of this.  
Notes: I was trying to finish some other stuff, some more pressing stuff, but then I thought about Dean and Sam and head and this...just happened.  
  
 

  
  
  
Dean lips find the head of Sam’s cock and surround it, and Sam’s hips surge forward unbidden. He feels the flat of his brother’s tongue swiping the hyper-sensitive flesh, and Sam moans brokenly from somewhere deep in his chest, Dean’s name mixed into the sound like a prayer.  
  
Dean’s teeth scrape lightly along the shaft of Sam’s dick as he sinks down slowly, tongue still working the head, dipping into his slit and running along the ridge before tracing the thick vein on the underside of his cock roughly, Sam’s breathy pleas spurring him on.  
  
When he can see his sharp exhales through his nose rustling the dark hair around the base of Sam’s prick, Dean stops, and swallows, and he can’t help the moan that is torn from him at the sound his brother makes when he does.  
  
He feels the gravel of the side road digging into his knees through the denim of his jeans, and his hands take their place on Sam’s hips, keeping them still while he works his brother’s cock.  
  
Sam’s dick comes free of Dean’s mouth with a wet ‘pop’ that he swears is a practiced move, because the sound sends a jolt right down his body and his cock jumps as he cries out for Dean to not stop. Please.  
  
And then Dean’s tongue is on Sam’s balls, and he can’t find the words to complain anymore, because his brother’s mouth is hot as a fucking furnace (‘ _Or hell_ ,’ whispers the part of Sam’s mind that he ruthlessly suppresses) and that wet heat will kill him one day if he isn’t careful, he knows.  
  
He winds his hands into Dean’s hair as far as he can, and nearly screams at the first touch of his brother’s tongue on his asshole, body shuddering all over and goose bumps spreading down his frame.  
  
He can feel every bit of the roughness of Dean’s tongue as it slides sensuously over his anus, soft and wet in it’s caresses at first, but gaining insistency and urgency as time progresses, dipping in occasionally, until Sam feels his brother’s lips form an ‘o’ and when he starts to suck, Sam does scream.  
  
He quiets down, and Dean’s tongue traces a path back up to his cock, stopping briefly to nip at the inside of his thigh, before his lips are once again secured around the head of Sam’s dick, tongue teasing and rough against the skin. Sam’s mind flashes back to the feel of those lips on his asshole, that tongue going from inside of his mouth in a searing kiss that left his knees weak to inside of his ass in less than five minutes.  
  
“God…Dean, we’re going to hell.”  
  
Dean’s only response is to suck harshly on Sam’s dick until he’s pretty sure all thoughts of hell are driven out by thoughts of ‘oh god’ and ‘fuck yes’ and ‘holyshitfuckmeDean’.  
  
Sam’s hips are held back by Dean’s hands still, and he whines low in his throat because Dean won’t _finish it already_. Instead, Dean takes his time, lets himself explore Sam’s cock as thoroughly as he pleases.  
  
His lips, wet with saliva and precum, drop a light kiss on the very tip of Sam’s cock before parting to slide down and around the head, stretching to accommodate, and coming back up to the tip again. He does this a few times until Sam can’t do anything but growl his frustration.  
  
Then, he takes Sam’s cock into his mouth, ever so slowly, knowing that the spit left from before would still be drying, and that the contrast between the cooling saliva and his hot mouth would be almost enough to drive Sam crazy.  
  
As his tongue dips into Sam’s piss slit, tasting fresh, salty-bitter precum, Dean’s right hand encircles the base of his brother’s cock, clenching tight, while his left snakes its way down behind Sam‘s balls to his puckered entrance, still wet from his rimming earlier. When two of Dean’s fingers shove inside without warning at the same time that he bears down and sucks _hard_ on the cock in his mouth, Sam cries out sharply, hips thrusting erratically, cursing because he can’t come, since Dean’s hand is still faithfully around his dick, not allowing him release.  
  
He whines again when Dean’s mouth removes itself from his dick, panting and flushed, the cold night air coming in from the open door where Dean is kneeling outside of the Impala making his chest hurt with every sharp inhale, but serving as an erotic reminder that, even though it is the dead of night and they are in the middle of fucking nowhere, there is always a slight chance that someone might come upon them.  
  
Sam never figured himself much of an exhibitionist until that point. He supposes that having one’s older brother on his knees, lips reddened, swollen, and just inches away from one’s spit-slick cock will change a person.  
  
“Beg me, Sammy.”  
  
And Dean’s mouth is on Sam’s cock again, but his hand hasn’t left it’s position of restriction, and for a brief, fleeting second, Sam entertains thoughts of telling his brother to fuck off, of saying that he’ll never beg Dean for anything, but then he feels Dean’s teeth graze the head of his cock and the pleas that fall from his lips are jumbled, and rushed, and possibly Latin, but they are sincere, dear God, so fucking sincere, and Dean’s hand unclenches from around Sam’s dick at just the moment that his crooked fingers find Sam’s prostate and his tongue presses _just fucking so_ against the head of his cock, and his teeth graze his shaft again and Sam loses it.  
  
When he can think straight again, he feels Dean removing his fingers from his ass, and watches in rapt attention as Dean fists his own cock, hand working furiously over the slick head, twisting on the upstroke. Sam feels a flare of desire as when he realizes that _he_ taught Dean that little trick, and reaches out to gently rolls his brother’s balls in his palm, other hand moving down to trace lightly over the puckered, sensitive skin of Dean’s asshole.  
  
“Come for me, Dean.”  
  
And he does, a half a dozen tight-fisted strokes later, groaning out Sam’s name into the blackness of the cloudy Oklahoma night.  
  
Dean raises up, and Sam tastes himself on Dean’s tongue as their mouths meld together in a kiss that is half sleepy and half desperate and he revels in it. He closes the door and leans up against it as he watches his brother walk back around to the driver’s side and get in, cranking the car and turning up the heat. His eyes are closed for a full five seconds before he hears his brother say,  
  
“Hey, Sammy.”  
  
Sam cracks an eye open irritably, trying to glare at Dean through the fringe of his too-long bangs menacingly, but he’s pretty sure the effect is lost as soon as his jaw cracks from the massive yawn that sets upon him half way through it.  
  
“What?” He says, voice scratchy-hoarse from fatigue and screaming out Dean’s name.  
  
“I told you so.”  
  
And Dean’s grin is smug, but Sam is more confused than annoyed.  
  
“What,” Sam yawns again, “the fuck are you talking about?”  
  
Dean’s laughter flows through the Impala, the sound an almost tangible comfort, wrapping around Sam like a blanket.  
  
“Blowjobs beat the shit out of lullabies any day.”  
  
Sam’s laughter is sleepy and deep.  
  
He can’t get comfortable on the door, so he slides over and lies back on the leather, head coming to rest in Dean’s lap, right leg thrown over the back of the seat, left positioned uncomfortably against the floor board and Sam almost curses his long legs before he remember how much Dean seems to love them.  
  
He nuzzles into Dean’s belly, feeling the muscle flex and move as his brother laughs, and smiling because he’s willing to wager that he’s the only person alive besides Dean that knows he’s ticklish. He breathes deep, smelling something like Dean and fabric softener and spunk, and he smiles again, because as weird as it is, that smell has come to mean ‘home’ to him.  
  
Sam falls asleep to the hum of the Impala’s tires against the pavement, and Dean singing the last few lines of some Judas Priest song that he probably hates - which is the only lullaby he‘s ever really needed.  
  
~


End file.
